


The Time Between

by EruGhostCat



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: "secret", Angst because of canon and I'm sorry, Cuddles, F/F, Fluff, Humor, Listen they're gay, Romance, Secret Relationship, Stormblood, We're going on a feels trip, follows msq to 4.56
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-28
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:25:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EruGhostCat/pseuds/EruGhostCat
Summary: “Tis true that the paths you two walk are fraught with peril, but you needs not tread it alone. Pray consider this; ‘twas not long ago you were but recovering from a near lethal visit to the lifestream. This time you were almost cut down-- another miracle, mind you, that you survived. One of these days, one of you may not return. If that day comes, 'twould be best if you meet it not with regrets.”After Ala Mhigo's liberation, Y'shtola and Lyse explore a relationship.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, it's my turn for the Lyshtola Stormblood+ story, buckle up cause I've got HEADCANONS. I've been wanting to write this since 4.4 and boy...  
> Special shout out to my bestest friend shaede for beta reading my gays ♥

“Then we got surrounded by the Red Kojin-- and Alisaie told us to go on without her! We were so worried and then, nary a bell later, she strolls up to us without a scratch and says, _’What? I said I was going to distract them, not make a heroic last stand.’”_  
She can hear the pout in Lyse’s voice, pinched as it is as she tries to imitate Alisaie.  
_"‘Who does that anyways?’”_

Y’shtola chuckles softly and murmurs, “She may have a point.”  
Her voice is still quite rusty from disuse. Lyse scoffs and moves on to continue with the next part of her retellings of Othard, complete with what Y’shtola can assume are hastily drawn diagrams and Lyse’s typical animated arm gestures. It would explain all of the rustling of papers and the occasional _thump_ followed by Lyse quietly uttering “Ow”.

It is a pleasure to have Lyse around. Her ever present enthusiasm always serves to liven up any room she finds herself in, which Y’shtola sorely misses these days. Too soon however, the excitable Ala Mhigan’s tale trails off.

“Ah, sorry Y’shtola, I completely lost track of time. I should probably let you rest.”  
She gets up abruptly, the chair scraping as it slides back across the stone flooring. Papers crash from their perch, spilling onto the floor as Lyse curses.

Y’shtola frowns, “Tis not a problem, Lyse.”

“Gah! So sorry!”

The other woman scrambles, her sabatons creaking as she picks up the papers and stacks them on the end table with Y’shtola’s books. She seems to hold her breath, hesitating before leaning carefully over the bed and giving Y’shtola a very gentle hug.

“I’ll uh, see you soon, alright?”

Y’shtola hums in response, returning the hug, if only to keep her there a little longer. She savors her warmth and her scent, reminiscent of the wood in East End with subtle hints of sweet Gyr Albanian loquats. Lyse lingers for a moment longer, before stepping back and shuffling over to the door.

“Stay safe, Lyse.”

The woman offers a nervous sigh in return, “Thanks, I’ll do my best.”

“You better. I full expect you to return and finish that story.”

Lyse laughs, “Of course, I wouldn’t dare leave you hanging.”

The door gently thuds shut. The jovial Scion is gone, taking the glow of the sun with her. The room once again settles into the monotonous lull of her own breathing and the ticking of the chronometer. She has ever had a soft spot for the oft brash Highlander and would much prefer Lyse never leave, although she would be very hard pressed to admit to such frivolous thoughts. They all have very important duties to perform for the good of the world, and mayhap it is her current inability to do her duty that is making her want for such things.

It would be less irksome if she could at least read without expending too much energy. Y’shtola knows tricks to extract a books information via magicks, a bit of a cheat young students of the Studium would employ whilst trying to cram before their exams. However, the process still takes a toll on her recovering body. Sometimes she would need to rest _just_ to have the energy to read --usually when she is being especially stubborn about reading despite her ‘limitations’. Oh, how she hated that word in regards to herself. Nearly a bell passes before a light knock on her chamber door breaks the quiet.

“Yes?”

The door creaks part way open, “Shtola? I’ve returned. I see your favorite guest has finally let you be.”

Y’shtola relaxes at the voice of her sister, Mhitra. Her footsteps are light and she huffs as she deposits her items on the desk beside the chronometer. There’s a pause before she chuckles, “Oh, what charming diagrams she left for you! Just slightly more legible than an adolescent’s.”  

“Hush, I appreciate her efforts.”

“Of course you do.” She sits down beside the bed and touches Y’shtola’s arm. “I’ve brought you a book that I hope you’ll find satisfactory.”

A leatherbound tome is placed in her hands. Y’shtola slides her fingers over the cover, feeling the worn corners and tracing the engraved letters that form the title. _Gyr Albanian Folklore_.

“It won’t do to see you shrivel up from boredom before your wound heals.”

Y’shtola hums, her fingers finding braille on the inside pages. “Thank you, Mhitra. I look forward to perusing it.”

The telltale sound of quill scratching parchment answers her. Given the rate at which she remembers her sister writing, she probably jotted down two sentences in that time. Such was Mhitra, so oft is she bombarded with thoughts and ideas that she must write them down the moment they occur, lest she forget them.

Three taps on the parchment, “You still haven’t told her.”

It wasn’t a question. The flat tone in Mhitra’s voice suggested disapproval.

Y’shtola sighs, “I haven’t told many people. It’s hardly something I feel I must advertise. I am not any less capable than before.”

“I meant in regards to your feelings towards Lyse. Though, I do not believe anyone would think anything less of you if given knowledge of your impairment.”

Y’shtola fixes a glare in her sister’s direction. “Also irrelevant.”

“Why, pray tell, do you think so? It’s quite obvious she likes you as well.”

“It’s not whether or not she likes me. It’s a matter of our duty as Scions and that such trivialities that could get in the way. I’m not Thancred.”

“Tis true that the paths you two walk are fraught with peril, but you needs not tread it alone. Pray consider this; ‘twas not long ago you were but recovering from a near lethal visit to the lifestream. This time you were almost cut down-- another miracle, mind you, that you survived. One of these days, one of you may not return. If that day comes, 'twould be best if you meet it not with regrets.”

“Yes, sister…” Y’shtola sighs, now pointing her glare at the wall across from her. She’s not wrong, Mhitra rarely is. But she also wants Y’shtola to settle down, which is something she isn't sure she will ever be able to or even want to do. It’s a lot to consider.

Mhitra tsks but does not press further. The room returns to its previous state of quiet, this time with the added scratching of Mhitra’s writing. Y’shtola shifts slightly, turning in the sheets in an attempt to get comfortable without disturbing her wound. She explores the book Mhitra gave her, embracing the familiar weight and texture of the pages. The forward goes on to describe Gyr Albanian history, the environment, the tribes present, and the influences of trade with Thavinir. It even goes as far as to mention the ship that once bore the man who would later found Sharlayan. All of these things which affect the different folktales of each region.

Though none of these topics are new to her, she enjoys learning different perspectives of it all the same. Contextualizing it with her own excursions into the region, the smell of the temperate salt tinged air, the feeling of the earthen clay underfoot, makes her feel more connected to her fellow Scions even if she can not be there with them.  

A bell must have passed in the relatively peaceful presence of her sister. She clears her throat softly, “Tis time I depart, Shtola.” A  warm, uncalloused hand encompasses her own, squeezing gently. “I will be back in a sennight, however, if you should require anything, you need not hesitate to call me.”

Y’shtola returns the gesture, her tone softer than earlier. “Thank you, Mhitra. Truly.”

She hopes that her sister knows how much she appreciates the time they have together, even if it is under poor circumstance. She vows then that she must strive to make it up to Mhitra. There was a time once where they had been close in childhood, before Y’shtola took under Master Matoya’s tutelage. Their communication soon after whittled down to letters left while the other was away. Before long, they were both respected scholars in their fields, their paths taking them ever further apart.

It is because of these letters that Mhitra had decided to venture into Eorzea with the Sons of Saint Coinach, finding a home for herself in the verdant groves of Gridania. And Y’shtola is grateful, for a journey all the way to the Sharlayan motherland just for a moment’s respite is a bit much.  No, it’s been perhaps too long since they spent time together sharing their research and exciting discoveries. Next time, it will not be over her ailing wounds.

\---

Shinryu is vanquished.  
Zenos is dead.

Ala Mhigo is free.

Lyse should be happy, over exuberant in fact. But somehow, she isn’t. Mahap it is the unsatisfactory conclusion of Zenos escaping punishment for his crimes by suicide. Or perhaps it is that the change is not instant. Their homeland is still in ruins, the land littered with blood and weapons, their industries are but dust and forgotten luxuries. Now that Lyse has fulfilled her promise, all that’s left is emptiness.

What now?

Being _Commander Hext_ didn’t end with the reclamation of her homeland. Part of her had believed - and still believes - that the title was merely temporary, to be swiftly removed once she led them to disaster and everyone realized how woefully unqualified she is. Yet somehow, she hasn’t. Instead, they call her a hero. She can no longer go back to the Scions who traverse the realm to aid any and all who need them. Lyse is needed here.

It’s like Papalymo said: a path only she could walk…

She surveys from Ala Mhigo to Castrum Oriens, reassessing what they can salvage. What they can _build_. Though the future seems daunting, the possibilities of what Ala Mhigo could become inspires her. Lyse’s resolve strengthened, she makes her way back to Rhalgr’s Reach.

She has to talk to her friends.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special shoutout to my friendo shaede for betaing my gays ♥

It is with much anxiety that she stands before the Scions just beyond Chakra falls. Lyse begins her speech, thanking them for their efforts in liberating Ala Mhigo. She loves them all very much, her eyes meeting the brave faces of Alisaie, Alphinaud, --though her gaze can’t help but linger a tad bit overlong upon Y’shtola, before moving to Krile, Urianger, and Thancred.

“You fought because you wanted to help -- because you believed it was right. Because you’re Scions.”

They listen to her intently. Somehow it makes what she has to say next so much harder.

“...I realized I couldn’t even pretend to be impartial anymore. So it seemed best to make it official. As long as I serve Ala Mhigo, I can’t be a Scion. It might seem selfish and short sighted… but that’s my decision.”

Lyse searches their faces for a sign of disappointment or judgement but finds instead something more akin to… respect? It is almost reassuring until Y’shtola shakes  her head with a shrug and sigh.

“Am I to understand that you summoned us all --some of us still nursing wounds --to hear this?”

“Oh! I --I… I didn’t --Um…”

She falters, wide eyed under Y’shtola’s scrutiny. Lyse barely has time to formulate a response before the most beautiful laugh comes from the other woman.

“Forgive me Lyse. ‘Twas but a jest.”

Y’shtola smiles warmly at her and now she is feeling an entirely different sort of panic. And gods, Y’shtola’s walking closer to her, a serious expression settling upon her features. It’s all Lyse can do just to breathe.

“But this I say with the utmost sincerity: Scion or no, we are comrades. Now and ever after.” She smirks as she looks to the surrounding Scions, “Is that not so?”

Lyse is overwhelmed by such acceptance, from the twins’ smiles to Urianger’s more subtle nod. And most of all, the genuine way Y’shtola looks at her, putting a hand over her breast. “There you have it. Come what may, you may count on us in your hour of need. We shall _never_ refuse you.”

The tears are breaking past her defenses before she can stop them.

“Shtola… oh gods, I swore I wouldn’t cry…”

So touched is Lyse by her dear friends --her _family_ that she is without words. Everyone comes closer and she drags them into a tight group hug, despite the unhappy grumble from Urianger. She doesn’t care. The rest are more responsive, Alisaie looping an arm around her and Krile laughing. Finally, Urianger concedes by awkwardly patting her arm, and so she releases him from the pile. She’s much more reluctant to let go of Y’shtola, but does so regardless.

“Well, I’m starving!” Lyse announces, “Let’s go have food!”

They decide to head to the capital, by pairing up on griffins no less, where the festivities are in full swing. Lyse, normally at ease astride a griffin, is tense with the feeling of Y’shtola’s arms around her. It’s just for balance, she knows, but her heart races when Y’shtola’s grip tightens.  

The music and shouts can be heard as they approach from the skies. Lyse loves the atmosphere, so much color, so much _happiness_ , of the once worn down Ala Mhigan people. The city looks vibrant with tapestries and rugs hung up as impromptu decorations. Some have taken to fashioning their shields into drums as their friends dance. As they leave the griffins with the handlers, she barely hears the thud and laughter behind her.

“No! Never again!” Alphinaud shouts as he stomps past Lyse, Alisaie trailing behind, barely able to contain her giggles. “Why? I thought you’d appreciate a few good aerial flips!”

Curiosity piqued, Lyse looks behind at the rest of her friends. Y’shtola’s ears are drawn back more than usual, appearing a little frazzled at all of the sounds. Urianger is just getting off his knees, Krile offering him a comforting pat. Thancred pulls him up and has him lean upon his shoulder. Lyse shakes her head and smiles. She’s missed them.

They stroll down the crowded streets, cheered on by any who recognize them. Lyse leads them to the grandest restaurant in Ala Mhigo, just outside the gates of the palace. Just a sennight before, the establishment was exclusively for the highest ranking Garlean patrons. Now it’s open to everyone, the once enslaved workers cheerfully serving traditional Ala Mhigan dishes again. Though jam-packed, the waiter waves their party to a large VIP table in the back.

The walls are beautifully painted, though she can make out the slight variation in the stone from where imperial flags must have hung for the past 20 years. There’s even an ornate fountain a few fulms from their table.

“I wonder if it tastes of salt...” Alphinaud muses.

Alisaie nudges him with a smirk, “Why don’t you go for a swim?”  

A Hellsguard waiter appears before they can carry on. Y’shtola asks what he would recommend and he’s quick to suggest a large serving of Buckler Stew, a hearty meal that embodies the soul of Ala Mhigo and could be shared amongst all in their party. They go through the rest of everyone’s orders, though the waiter has a little difficulty deciphering Urianger’s request. They spend much of the diner catching up. Lyse is all too happy to provide first hand accounts of her adventures, this time with wry additions from Alisaie.

A live band begins playing on the small stage in the restaurant, soon attracting a crowd. Lyse is struck by their song, something about it seems so familiar and yet so far off in her memory. A campfire in the wilderness. Arms around her and a soft hum of the same tune. _Yda_. It makes her eyes water. Thancred rises from his seat with a flourish, inviting them to dance. All but Urianger and Y’shtola take him up on the offer. Krile even hops on to the stage, displaying her dancing prowess with a proclamation to Alphinaud that she did not expect to be tutoring him again so soon. Lyse suspects Krile may have also chosen the stage so that she may avoid being tussled by a crowd mostly composed of Highlanders and Hellsguard.  

After three songs, Lyse returns to their table. She takes her seat beside Y’shtola who inclines her head at her. “Ah, back so soon? Given your natural energy I would have thought you would dance for at least a bell longer.”

Lyse smiles at the crowd and their friends shenanigans with a shrug, “Perhaps, but both my stomach and my heart are heavy which makes not for the most graceful of dances.”

“What weighs on you?”

“Oh, nothing. The music just brings back memories of Yda. I miss her.”

Y’shtola pats her shoulder gently. The waiter returns with a platter of persimmon puddings and jellied compotes, depositing it in the center of the table and taking away their empty plates. Lyse quickly snatches a cup of the compote, her spoon dinging against the glass as she eagerly takes a bite. Y’shtola laughs softly as she reaches forward and much more delicately takes a small plate of the pudding.

“Did you not just say your stomach was full?”

“-Ish good fruit!” Lyse replies, her mouth still occupied by the sweets. “So why don’t you dance, Y’shtola?”

“I hold no fondness for crowds, even if I _was_ talented at dancing.”

“I’m not talented at dancing either!”

“Thine apparel wouldst suggest otherwise.” Urianger interjects over the rim of his cup.

Lyse narrows her eyes at him suspiciously, “Not you too…”

Thancred arrives at their table to pick up a dessert, his other arm wrapped around a woman, much to no one's surprise. He bids farewell to them and strolls off with her. The twins depart soon after, leaning upon each other for support. Krile stays at the table however, launching into a detailed discussion with Urianger about a curious island in the Glass Ocean. Lyse takes care of their tab, all the while fretting over whether or not she should ask Y'shtola to leave with her.  
It was perfectly acceptable to want to spend more time with her dear friend, wasn’t it?

She returns and stands by her seat at the table, hesitating a moment longer before deciding to act.

“Y’shtola, um...” Lyse nearly loses her nerve when those silvery eyes meet hers.

“Yes, Lyse?”

“Would you mind taking a walk with me? I would very much like to show you more of Ala Mhigo.”

Y’shtola taps her chin as if to contemplate it but fails to hide her smirk. “I suppose I can be amenable.”

Lyse practically bounces, restraining herself as an afterthought. She takes Y’shtola’s arm as the Miqo’te elegantly rises from her own seat. They say their goodbyes to Krile and Urianger before Lyse enthusiastically leads Y’shtola towards the palace stairs.

“There’s, obviously, a lot of stuff still being cleaned and rebuilt since the battle, but the Royal Gardens on the palace rooftop is still in pristine condition. And--” She pauses on the steps to mock whisper, “ _\--it’s closed to the public_.”

“Commander Hext, pulling your rank privilege already?”

“Hah, maybe. The view is amazing from up there! If we can climb fast enough we can catch the last few rays of the sunset. Besides, I thought mayhap you’d appreciate one of the only places in Ala Mhigo that isn’t crowded right now.”

Y’shtola hums in agreement as they continue up the stone stairs. Lyse slides her hand over the aged, orange stone banister, relishing the almost smooth texture. There it is again, that feeling of something familiar yet so hard to place in her memory. She does know one thing, a lot of the stone that built Ala Mhigo had been quarried from Ala Gannha. Y’shtola smiles, her hand following Lyse’s path along the banister. Lyse finds herself longing to slide her fingers over the other woman’s.

She bites her lip and settles for resting her hand upon Y’shtola’s shoulder instead. It’s nice spending time with her again, away from her sickbed and outside of Mor Dhona’s gloomy weather. When they reach the top of the stairs, Lyse nods at the guard who lets them into the rooftop garden. She takes her along the tiled path between the patches of grass, pointedly avoiding the flowerbeds where Zenos took his own life. They come to a stop on the south side of the gardens, where the walkway extends slightly from the rooftop. Lyse sits down on the parapet, swinging one leg on the other side. She pats the stone beside her in invitation.

“Careful, it’s quite a fall. I don’t know who’s genius idea was it to not include benches after such a walk.”

“I’m sure it was contrary to their aesthetic.” Y’shtola replies, sitting carefully on the ledge and keeping both of her feet firmly planted on the ground. Lyse shifts, grinning as she looks over at all the buildings. They’re all so small from here, she can hardly imagine how many people are down there celebrating. The setting sun paints the sky in soft oranges and violets, splashing over the spires and rooftops.

“It’s breathtaking…” Lyse murmurs in wonderment.

“Yeah.”

She turns and realizes Y'shtola is looking right at her.

“Haha, you’re not even looking.”

Y’shtola shrugs, “I’m blind, Lyse.”

“Oh. Oh gods, I’m an idiot.” She reels back, afraid that she’s been oblivious and offending her dear friend this entire time.

“It’s not your fault.” Y’shtola interjects, sensing her distress. “I’ve endeavored for it not to be apparent.”

Lyse frowns, “But you-- you act like you can still see fine.”

“I can, in a way, through aether. It’s different than before but no less useful.”

“Through aether? Is it like the aether goggles?”

“Somewhat. They only show you a fraction of what the aetherical plane truly looks like. In any case, it’s an ability I can only use sparingly.”

“Wow…” Lyse looks down and fidgets with her hands as she processes what it all means. “So… you’ve never seen my entire face.”

“No.” Y’shtola’s brows furrow as she considers her next words. “But I’ve always seen _you,_ Lyse. And your aether is the most fascinating specimen I’ve ever come across.”

She takes Lyse’s hand, spreading her own hand across her palm. Hers is slightly smaller, yet it feels perfect to Lyse.

“It’s… like seeing people as living constellations. Sparks and outlines in the shape of their very lifeforce.” Y’shtola smiles at her, “Yours is a near indescribable light, composed of shades of reds, greys, and yellows. They trail from you not unlike the tail of a shooting star, which is fitting considering your nature. So bright, so powerful, inspiring all that witness you.”

“No one has ever described me in such a way.” Lyse whispers.

“Tis a great shame, that is.”

The last ray of sunlight slowly dims on Y’shtola, giving way to moonlight. It barely even scratches the surface of the insurmountable willpower and strength that Y’shtola wears so well.

“You’re really beautiful. Too. Like-- inside and out.”

Curse her inability to put into words how she feels. Is she even reading this situation right? This is… romantic isn’t it? Lyse is trembling and --gods, how did this happen?

They’re just sitting there on the roof, surrounded by the flowers and the stars and Y’shtola is still holding her hand and _rubbing small circles_ with her thumb over hers.

Lyse stiffly looks over at the Archon she’s admired for over five years. Y’shtola tilts her head, smiling so damn softly at her.

Lyse swallows hard, “I mean it. You’re amazing and. Gods, Shtola, if I am anything, it’s because of the things you’ve done for me. Even in times when I thought everyone was lost, you were there for me.   
...You almost died for me.”

“I would not hesitate to do so again.”

“I know, though I do not wish it.” She squeezes Y’shtola’s hand, “And I’m just-- I’m so truly happy that you are alive.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

It’s quiet save for the distant echoes of music down below. Lyse sneaks a glance at the other woman. Though the night brought a cool wind over the rooftop, she feels her face and ears burning. Nervously, she leans a little closer. “Could I… um. May I kiss you?”

Y’shtola brows draw together at that, her smile fading. She lets go of Lyse’s hand.

“You probably should not.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I-”

“However much we might want to do that, I would not want it to be something we regret. Something brief for just a moment of pleasure --it’s not worth the risk, is it?”

Lyse’s eyes widen, “What if I want it to last longer than a moment --than a bell, or a moon, or even ten summers? Because, if you want it too, I’d do whatever it takes to make this work.” She feels as though she’s hanging on by a thread, waiting for Y’shtola to think it over. “I believe it’s worth it.” She whispers.

“Then, perhaps you should.” Y’shtola finally speaks, “Though I have but one condition.”

“Yeah?” Lyse breathes, just an ilm left between their faces.

“That I may kiss you as well.”

“Heh, I should hope that you do…”

She finally closes the gap between their lips. It’s a little awkward at first, but Y’shtola’s hands cup her face, her thumb stroking along Lyse’s cheekbone as if to map out her features. Lyse slides her arm around the smaller woman’s back, holding her closer. She tilts her head so that she may deepen their kiss. She really doesn’t want this to ever end. As Y’shtola leans more into her, Lyse pulls her tighter into her lap.

She’s lost in the sensation of Y’shtola’s soft lips, contrasted by the nipping of her fangs. In how she smells of lavender and books, mixing with the salt tinged Ala Mhigan air. When they part to catch their breath, Y’shtola’s forehead is still resting against hers while their noses gently brush each other. Her hand caressing Lyse’s hair as it slides to the back of her neck.

“I think I’ve changed my mind.” Y’shtola purrs, “We should have done this ages ago.”

Lyse hardly has time to giggle before Y’shtola is kissing her again, harder this time, her fingers pressing into her skin. She returns the kisses just as passionately, squeezing her hip--

An explosion goes off and nearly startles the two of them off the ledge. Lyse is already standing, looking every which way. A bomb? --Magitech? --A primal?! But as she looks to the starlit sky, Lyse sees the harmless bloom of bright reds and violets with smaller bursts of green.

“Fireworks?” Y’shtola asks as she runs a soothing hand down Lyse’s back. The Highlander realizes how much she's shaking and tries to stop. She gives a weak laugh, “Yeah. Celebrations are to continue for a sennight at the least.”

“Seems like an ill choice for a nation full of war survivors.”  

“Well, you can thank Rowena’s merchants for that.” Lyse grumbles dryly.

Y’shtola embraces her and Lyse can’t help but lean into her comfort. “Would you prefer to retreat indoors?”

“Yes, I’d much enjoy to be without the noise.”

Lyse leads her inside the Royal Palace. She starts to feel better as they walk down the ornate halls. The wall murals are awe inspiring to her. She wonders if her father had walked these same halls, when he once served in the royal guard. When they find the throne room, Y’shtola asks Lyse to describe it to her as she lightly traces the engraved arm of the throne. Lyse tries her best, despite not having the most technical or elegant vocabulary. Y’shtola smiles all the same.

A guard finds them and informs them that the building is being locked up for the night. She urges them to make haste to an exit, obviously conflicted about how to react to them being somewhere they should not. If they had been anyone else, that selfsame guard would be chastising and arresting them for their self guided tour through the Royal Palace. They oblige at once and with apologies, though Lyse is too damn giddy to sound repentant. No, because she’s here in a freed Ala Mhigo with the woman she adores whom apparently adores her back and it’s too much and just enough all at once.

As they emerge onto the city streets, they find that the festivities are still going strong. Lyse leads her towards the aetheryte plaza, avoiding the most concentrated packs of people. She still cringes at the intermittent fireworks above them, but not as badly now that she expects them. Part way there, Y’shtola tugs on Lyse’s arm.

“As I am quite tired, I would much rather spend the night with you, Lyse, if that’s alright.”

“Oh! Of course! Um, my room is at the Reach but --if you are overly tired, we could retire to an inn here.”

Y’shtola contemplates it for a moment before shrugging, “‘Twould be the safest option. Seems my aches are taking its toll on me.”

Lyse nods, taking the duty very seriously. How could she let Y’shtola’s healing wound escape her mind and have her walk up and down all those stairs? Twelve damn her.

“Alright! Okay, I’ll find us one.” As Lyse leads Y’shtola to a bench to rest for the time being, she squeezes her wrist gently. “I’m sorry.”

She runs through the streets to find an inn with a vacancy. It’s at the third inn she tries that she acquires a room and key. The innkeeper claims she can have it on the house, but Lyse insists on paying him. She sprints back to Y’shtola, hopping over a cart in the process. Her Miqo’te companion is no worse shape than when she left, to her relief. She’s in classic form, arms crossed with her head tilted slightly towards the sky. Her ears and tail twitch, filtering through all the sounds still echoing in the city. Lyse slows her gait, wishing not to startle her, but Y’shtola seems to relax at her approach.

“Did you find one? I’d like not to ride the griffin again so soon.”

“Hah. Yes, I did. It’s not too far from here, though we’ll have to enter through the tavern.”

She leads Y’shtola to the tavern, still bustling with activity. Several of the patrons raise their mugs and others salute at her as she walks in. The crowd parts respectfully to let them pass to the stairs leading to the rooms. A voice rings from the back, “Liberty or death!”

“Liberty or death!” Lyse replies, pumping her fist in the air.

The tavern erupts into cheers, going absolutely wild. Lyse grins and steps backwards to join Y’shtola up the stairs.

“Quite the heroine.” Y’shtola teases, nudging her as they make their way down the hallway.

Lyse slides the key into the door with a weak chuckle, “Yeah, I don’t know who they think I am.”

“An incredible woman perhaps?”

“Please, Shtola, if you compliment me one more time I might just cry. And gods know I’ve cried enough today…”

Y’shtola’s laugh is charming as she slips into their room. It was a simple affair, one bed and a candle on the end table. Lyse watches from the doorway, hesitating to follow her, if only because she’s not sure what will happen once she locks the door behind them.

“It’s actually really awkward.” She says as she shuts the door, “Everywhere I go, people look at me like I’m some great person and I’m really not. I wonder if this is how Raubahn feels. Or even the Warrior of Light!”

The Miqo’te takes measured steps, running a hand along the bed and end table.

“They will settle down in the coming days, but make no mistake: you did earn your place in their hearts, as you did mine.”

A blush rises to Lyses cheeks, unable to keep from smiling as Y’shtola heads into adjacent washroom. Her mind is still racing over the possibilities. Would it be okay to share a bed together? The room doesn’t have much else in the way of space, although she could sleep on the floor. Or she could leave Y’shtola here, go back to her own bed all the way in the Reach. The woman in question returns from the washroom and gestures for Lyse to take her turn.

She returns a moment later to find Y’shtola in the process of disrobing.

“Um?” Lyse panics, her throat feeling quite dry.

“We have no spare set of clothes, so, just undress and we shall sleep.”

“Okay.” Lyse squeaks out, fixated on the way Y’shtola’s robe slides off her shoulders, revealing more of her smooth skin. But the fluttering in her stomach turns to guilt at the sight of the large scar running from Y’shtola’s shoulder down partway of her chest, obscured by her undergarments. She blinks away the memory of blood and focuses on removing some of her own clothes. She leaves them folded on the cabinet by Y’shtola’s and turns nervously to see that the Archon has already crawled into bed. She blows out the candle.

Lyse takes a steadying breath and slips into bed beside her. It’s a little small for two people but proves not to be an issue as Y’shtola carefully wraps her arms around her. Lyse relaxes into her touch, pulling her closer. The feeling of their embrace, the warmth where their skin met was too divine for words. The dim moonlight from the window illuminates her outline and Lyse follows it to her lips and kisses her sweetly. Y’shtola hums approvingly before tucking her face into Lyse’s neck. She can feel her smiling against her skin and it sends another flutter of emotion through her.

Outside, the celebrations finally quiet down. And, for a blessing, the fireworks are over. She’s in tune with the sound of Y’shtola’s breathing, just ilms from her ear. She kisses her head, burying her face in soft white hair and brushing her nose against Y’shtola’s ear. The ear twitches away but the Archon hugs her tighter.

For mayhap the first time in Lyse’s life, she feels at peace.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special shoutout to my buddy shaede for beta reading my soft gay

It’s surprisingly _not_ gloomy in Mor Dhona when Y’shtola finally repays Mhitra for her kindness. The usual oppressive aetherical static is vacant from the air and she feels the pleasant warmth of sunlight on her skin. They sit on the 2nd floor terrace of Rowena’s restaurant, enjoying something akin to their childhood study sessions. The waiter brings them some of the new Far Eastern inspired dishes, an assortment of rice balls and two bowls of miso soup.

 “...And thus Prin saw to imparting the last bit of Master Sari’s knowledge to our companion, Arixe. Once finished, it returned to an inert state.” Mhitra sips her tea while tapping on her journal. “The magicks animating that tome were ever so fascinating, I wish you had been able to meet it.”

 Y’shtola hums, “It indeed sounds intriguing, but is it so unlike the enchanted tomes of Sharlayan?”

 “Sharlayan tomes most definitely _do not_ talk like Prin. The concept is similar albeit less sophisticated.”

She nods, taking comfort in the warmth of a tea cup in her hands and its fragrant aroma of jasmine. “Just as well, I am glad to see you have had your hands full with your own exciting adventures.”

“Oh, Hello?”

The chair beside Y’shtola scrapes as it is pulled back and a familiar cologne greets her nose.

“Greetings, my very fine friends. What’s the occasion?”

“Thancred.” Y’shtola sighs, “My sister and I were discussing our recent studies.”

The chair creaks as he leans back. “Mm. These are good rice balls.”

“Yes, the Domans and the chief have been working on new menus for quite some time.” Mhitra grumbles, likely annoyed at Thancred’s self invitation.

Y’shtola clears her throat, “And to what do we owe your appearance, Thancred?”

“Just checking in.” He leans closer to her to whisper, “F’lhaminn also frequents this establishment. She seems more at peace these days. Minfilia would be… happy to know that.”

“Ah, yes, I’m sure she would.”

There is a pause and she hears a page flipping from Mhitra’s direction.

“Oh, by the way!” Thancred begins abruptly and all together too loudly in her ear for her comfort, “There’s also some rather _interesting_ rumors circulating about you, Y’shtola.”

She grimaces, “Is there?”

“There is?” Comes a much more enthused response from Mhitra. “New ones I take it?”

“Yes…” He trails off mischievously.

Suddenly it occurs to Y’shtola that having Thancred and her sister discussing rumors in regards to herself might just be the 5th realm of hell.

“Rumors of which, I found surprising! For someone who _so championed_ the necessity of impartiality for the Scions --you seem to have _quite_ the bias for a certain Ala Mhigan representative.”

“That’s hardly fair.” Y’shtola growls, “It’s Lyse. She is dear to all of us.”

“Perhaps! But, we were not seen renting an inn room with her late in the evening. Honestly, I thought you would be a _little_ more subtle in your affairs with her. If you need some tips on subterfuge, I’d be happy to help.”

Affairs? Certainly not. Her lips draw together into a thin line and she resists the urge to smack him.

“I do not appreciate what you are implying. She wanted to show me the Royal Gardens. I over taxed myself on our excursion and irritated my wound so I needed rest. She acquired a room so I could recover without further travel. There was no affair.”

Thancred pats her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Y’shtola. I believe you.”

“I do too,” Mhitra adds, “if only because you’re far too stubborn to make a move on her.”

Y’shtola’s mouth twitches, threatening to break her facade. She itches to correct Mhitra that she did, in fact, kiss Lyse quite a few times that day. But that, in consequence, will inform Thancred. No. They most certainly did _not_ need to know. Pride be damned.

\---

Lyse is far too overworked. Between trying to get the Gyr Albanian communities to agree on rebuilding plans and the very large and suspicious glowing hole beyond M’naago’s village that Cid _promises_ he’s sorting out, she hardly has time for any of her own plans. Her mind drifts to thoughts of Y’shtola and her soft smile, basked in the morning light. Lyse needs more mornings like that in her life. Instead she wakes up to paperwork. It’s times like this that she’s ever grateful that Papalymo forced her to practice her formal letters.

She takes her finished reports out to the large commander’s table just up the hill from Chakra falls. As she unceremoniously drops the stack on her corner of the table, she notices a familiar looking Hellsguard woman retreating down the hill from M’naago’s side of the tent.

“Hey Naago, how’s business? Was that Klyn?”

“Yeah. Dropped off a delivery.” She responds as she fills out a slip and adheres it the box in front of her. She smiles at Lyse and gestures to the various crates behind her. “Business is great, actually! I still can’t believe it’s working.”

Lyse grins, her tiredness forgotten as she excitedly inspects all of the shiny assortments of collectables. She clasps her friend’s shoulder, shaking her gently. “You’re doing great things for our people and their families. There is not a day we do not appreciate your work.”

M’naago chuckles with a shrug, “Every little effort helps. Honestly, I was worried that the agreement with Rowena’s scrips would fall through. Turns out, adventurers really can’t get enough of that stuff.”

Lyse nods and returns to her side of the table, trading her reports for a _new_ stack of paperwork from a messenger. A quick glance tells her it concerns the Saltery and a petition for a goldsmithing school. She mentally schedules them for later. First she must depart for an appointment. After she returns, she can look over the documents in the hour before her next meeting, one which concerns the Velodyna Gatekeepers.

There’s a light knock on the table. Lyse looks up to see Y’shtola on the other side.

“Shtola!” She’s near tempted to jump over the table but manages to run around it instead. She eagerly embraces the Archon. “What brings you here?” 

“You, of course.” Y’shtola replies quietly as the blushing Hyur reluctantly releases her. Louder, she continues, “Research. I have some surveys I must take around the Peaks and the Loches.”

“Ah! Yes, okay.”

Y’shtola steps closer, “Are you busy today?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Are you going to be staying for long?”

“I plan to be here for a sennight, so as to have enough time to take and analyze the readings. I already have lodgings arranged at the capital.”

“Great!” Lyse returns to retrieve her stack of papers. “I have to be somewhere soon but, uh, do you want a guard escort to the survey locations? Naago can arrange something for you.”

“No. You needn’t worry, Lyse.”

Lyse frowns as she looks down at the ground between them. She doesn’t want to leave Y’shtola so soon. She weighs her options and decides to ask.

“Hey, actually-- My appointment is in Ala Gannha. You could come with me if you’d like. Your help would be appreciated, honestly.”

“I shall join you then. It’s partway to my destination, in any case.”

“Okay, I’ll be a moment.” She turns to see M’naago talking to two adventurers, arms full of more collectables. The Miqo’te gives her a wave, “Don’t worry, Commander, I’ll hold down the fort.”

Lyse jogs back to her room, putting the documents on her designated to-do side of the desk and scooping up the bag she prepared for the trip. She buys some pastries from a street vendor on her way back to Y’shtola. They set off from the Reach by foot. It is a stiffly quiet walk through the tunnels. Lyse finds herself at a loss for what to say and she’s struggling with if she should hold the Archon's hand.

Y’shtola breaks the silence as they exit the remains of the temple. “You’re probably aware of this but we must needs be… secretive about us.”

“We do?” 

“Yes. You’re a representative now, Lyse. A publicized relationship with a Scion would be met with scrutiny for both our factions.”

“Oh, right…” Lyse tries her best to ignore the sinking feeling in her gut.

Y’shtola sighs, “And Thancred informed me that people already speculate about the nature of our relationship.” She faces Lyse, her brows furrowed in concern, “I hope that’s alright, Lyse. If things were different… I would not hesitate to claim you as mine.”

“I **am** yours.”

“And I’m yours.”  

Lyse takes Y’shtola's hand, intertwining their fingers. “That is enough for me.”

Y’shtola squeezes her hand in response.

They hold hands until they reach the outskirts of Ala Gannha. Lyse approaches the soldiers stationed there, handing out some of the snacks she brought them. It still makes her emotional to be here. The people of the village regard Lyse with much more pride than when she first returned to it about five moons ago.

She makes her way up the third floor of the rock face to speak to the stonemason. A middle aged Highlander woman greets her under one of the carved arches.

“Hi, Kaolin. Is it finished?”

“Aye lass.” She nods, pointing a tanned hand across the village to path curling around the rock overlooking the river. “As promised.”

Lyse nods, handing the woman a bag of gil. “Thank you.”

She grasps Lyse's hand, shaking firmly, “No, thank you. ‘Twas an honor, Commander Hext.”

Lyse smiles and heads back down to the center of the village. Raganfrid the Elder gives her a nod and she waves back. She finds Y’shtola standing by the river, eyes closed and seemingly deep in thought.

“Hey, enjoying it out here?”

“Mm, tis pleasant.”

Lyse guides her up the southern path around the rock formation. “This is the village where Yda and I were born.”

“Ah. Sunny, sturdy… It fits you. The river must explain why you love swimming.”

“Ahaha, perhaps. I was still so small, Shtola, I doubt they tossed me into the river!”

“Highlanders don’t do that?”

Lyse nudges her shoulder playfully, “No!” She rubs her arm after a second thought, “or at least… I don’t think so!”

She stops and sighs when they reach the top of the path. Y’shtola bumps into her and just stays there, pressed slightly against her. After a moment of quiet, she puts a hand on Lyse’s back.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I… I have someone to introduce you to.”

Before them stands a brand new elegantly carved stone pillar, reaching about as tall as Lyse’s midsection. She takes Y’shtola’s hand, cursing herself for trembling slightly, and places it on the epitaph. Her fingers trace the engraved letters.

 _Curtis Hext  
_ _Yda Hext  
_ _Beloved of Ala Mhigo._

Lyse presses her palm over Y’shtola’s on the stone.

“Hey… I did it. Ala Mhigo is free. And I’m still working, everyday, to make it a better place. I hope I made you both proud.”

She can't help but picture what it would be like if they stood upon this ledge with her. Yda with her signature visor raised, grey speckled eyes shining with pride and the confident smile she wore so well over her burdens. And her father, a man more legend than memory, standing with all the might of a mountain. Beside her, Y’shtola’s brows are furrowed as she reverently regards the epitaph. Lyse can’t help but smile when she looks at the Archon.

“Father, this is Y’shtola. She’s very, very dear to me.” She shakes her head with a watery chuckle. “Yeah, Yda, I know what you’re going to say. And yes, she is good to me. Saved my life more than once.”

Y’shtola side-eyes her, “Not that you’ve made it easy.”

“Hahah, I thought you enjoyed challenges.”

She finally lets go, reaching into her pack and pulling out a small ornate bowl and resting it before the epitaph. As she arranges flowers in the bowl, she hears Y’shtola speak up. “I never really got to say goodbye to you myself, Yda. Though you and I had never been close, I’m grateful for all that you’ve done.”

Lyse offers a solemn prayer. When she opens her eyes again all that is left is the pillar overlooking Ala Gannha. With a shaky sigh, she turns to her companion.

“Alright. Shtola, would you like to have some lunch before we part?”

Y’shtola nods and it brings a smile back onto Lyse’s face. She takes her hand and takes her the rest of the way around the rock by some barrels. She pulls an old blanket from her bag and sets it down for them to sit upon. Pastries are poured from the bag in a pile between them, an assortment of bacon bread and sweet buns.

“Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot. Their bodies were never recovered but… I thought I could do this for them, at the least.”

“Tis an honor, Lyse, truly.” She smiles, “Though, I would have appreciated a little forewarning that you were going to introduce me to your father. I would have brought something. First impression, ruined.”

"I’m sure he would have loved you.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, without a doubt. You’re smart, brave, selfless and kind --how could he not?”

Y’shtola scoots closer and hugs her. Lyse immediately reciprocates, squeezing her tightly. She leans against the Archon, greatly appreciating her touch and comfort.

“They are more than proud of you.” She runs her hand gently over Lyse’s hair. “I’m proud of you.”

Lyse sniffles, “Thanks.”

Their foreheads touch as they slowly part from the embrace, only for Lyse to kiss her. Y’shtola presses back, following Lyse’s lips as she carefully leans her back against the barrel. She kisses her tenderly, timeless and full of emotion. The Archon slowly parts from her, caressing her cheek gently before returning to how she was sitting before. They finish their snacks in relative quiet with naught but the waterfall and distant chirping. She enjoys the other woman's presence and relaxes in knowing that there is no pressure to say anything at all. Maybe it’s really that simple, no pretense, no expectation, just acceptance.

All too soon, they must go their separate ways.

Y’shtola moves to travel east, intending to cross the river and declining any offers for assistance. Although Lyse worries for her, she does not press further, respecting Y’shtola’s wishes. She’s a little overdue to return and will have to make haste to prepare for her meeting. She knows she's going to pay for it later with a late night at her desk and quill. But it is worth it. She leaves Ala Gannha with a lighter heart.

Father and sister, returned home at last.


	4. Chapter 4

After Raubahn takes up command in Ala Mhigo, Lyse’s schedule has a little more leeway, though she still stands as representative to the Reach’s affairs. For Y’shtola’s part, her work has her traveling far and wide to investigate discrepancies in the aether. Locations in Limsa she had surveyed not one year past have also shown a marked decline in aetheric density. Without primal activity to attribute it to, she is puzzled as to what it could mean for the realm.

Y’shtola also has another trouble weighing on her mind-- or, her heart, rather. A longing. Though Lyse has been absent from the Scions for some time now, the Rising Stones still feels emptier without her. She finds herself making more and more excuses to visit Ala Mhigo. She sneaks moments with Lyse whenever they can afford to. Sometimes all they can do is share a brief hug before they must rush away to their duties. On luckier days, like tonight, they get to have the evening together.

Lyse meets her by the tunnels to the Peaks, giving Y’shtola a warm embrace in the chilly evening air. She cheerfully escorts her through the Reach’s stone hallways, the echoes of their footsteps muted by the rush of the waterfall beyond. Ever since Lyse stopped wearing those sabatons, she’s surprisingly hard to locate at times. She reaches out to take Lyse’s hand.

“Secret door.” Lyse whispers, a giggle creeping into her voice. Immediately after, she hears stone sliding over stone and a solid _clunk_ as it locks into place. “There’s a lot of these hidden pathways from when the Fist of Rhalgr lived here. So, obviously, I had to have the bedroom with access to one. For reasons.”

“For reasons. Hmm, I wonder kind they might be.” Y’shtola smirks, the door sliding shut behind them.

Lyse just giggles and squeezes her hand. Y’shtola isn’t sure how it’s possible to find her more endearing than she already does, yet with every passing day her fondness for her grows. It’s only a few more steps to the other side of the passage, where the door slides open much like the last. She pushes some fabric out of the way.

“One sec, It opens into my closet. We have to come ou- haha, out of it. Here, I’ll put your things up.” The Scion shrugs off her coat and hands her bag to Lyse as they shuffle in the small space. Y’shtola reaches out, touching the porous stone arch that leads into the next room.

“And here we are! Welcome to my little home.” Lyse announces cheerfully. “It’s just one big room and a washroom.”

It’s just about two and a half strides larger than the personal Scion chambers. She trails her fingers along a wood surface as she explores the space. Y’shtola finds a counter, unsurprisingly embellished with trademark Ala Gannhan stone, sanded to a smooth finish. She turns and leans against it, listening to Lyse from the other side of the room.

“Yeah, that’s my kitchen. It’s got a little oven, some cabinets with extra plates and the like. Though I don’t really entertain much company here, I have a table with three chairs. Just, um, to your left.”  

“Spacious.”

“Heh. Ahead of you is the actual door and my desk to the left of that. Klyn made that for me, out of some zelkova from the Loches. As you can imagine, it’s currently home to piles of paperwork.”

“I do hope you’ve improved your organizational habits.” Y’shtola pushes off of the counter and counts four strides to the door. She touches the edge of the desk, feeling elegant engravings along its corner.  Her hand finds the arm of a chair, sliding up over the smooth upholstery. She presses slightly, finding a satisfactory amount of cushion.

“Oh, well, I _had_ to. Got a big comfy chair by it for when I have to work here. It’s made of, uh, gazelle leather. That one was a gift from the Resistance, at Naago’s insistence.  And, you know, I have a hard time saying no to gifts. I still have the table orchestrion you gave me last summer, up on a shelf above that.”

“I’m glad it’s still serving you well.”

Her footsteps retreat to the other side of the room as she hums in thought. “I have some paintings of the Shroud and Mor Dhona on the wall. Oh, and a large Ala Mhigan weave rug. It’s purple and has a bit of a gold trim.”

Y’shtola taps her chin with a smile at the mental image of Lyse’s room. “Reminders of your time with the Scions, I take it?”

“Yeah. I put Yda’s mask up on another shelf over by the door. Kinda like she’s still looking out for me, I guess.”

Y’shtola finds Lyse’s bed, wider than the one they shared in the inn, much to her relief. She sits on the edge of it as Lyse comes to join her.

“It’s big because I tend to sprawl out a bit when I sleep, haha.” The bed dips beside her and Lyse slides an arm around her waist.

“I know, ‘twas not too long ago that we shared a bed.”

“Heheh, I’m sorry Shtola. Honest! I didn't mean to nearly knock you off of the bed that night.”

Y’shtola crosses her arms, “Hm. I’m not quite convinced of your innocence.”

“Won’t happen again, I promise, Scion’s honor!” As they share a laugh, Y'shtola leans her head on Lyse’s shoulder.

“Tis a nice home you have, Lyse.”

“It’s much better with you here.”

“Full glad am I to be here.”

“I mean it though, you know that? No matter what happens and how far apart we may be --Twelve knows what sort of mess the Scions will get into next. I’ll always be waiting for you. Ala Mhigo is your home too. Right here.”

Y’shtola’s hand finds Lyse’s knee and rubs it gently. “Tis true we Scions know no shortage of troubles, you know this better than most. It’s the time between we have to savor, however fleeting. Though dark clouds ever stir anew on the horizon, I do swear to you, Lyse, I will always find my way back home to you.”

She cups Lyse’s cheek, caressing her thumb over her soft lips and feels them curve upwards. She smiles affectionately in return, guiding her closer so that she can kiss her. They crawl up further upon Lyse’s --their bed. Snuggling up to each other, they share a few more sweet, lingering kisses as Y’shtola hangs over the taller woman.

She settles down beside her and Lyse presses her forehead against her collar bone. So easily, she is enveloped in Lyse’s warmth, her scent, her heartbeat, her everything. Of all the things Y’shtola has experienced, nothing quite compares to the measure of comfort she takes in _cuddling_ with Lyse. She will never admit it out loud, of course, but she doubts that it’s a secret to the Highlander. Not with the way she can’t help but hold her close, running her fingers through her long hair and nuzzling against her.

Lyse’s body trembles, and Y’shtola realizes she’s giggling. “What is it?”

“Your tail is tickling my leg.”

Y’shtola sighs.

In the days that follow, the room gains several new additions. It’s gradual, first a bracelet, a stack of books, then a spare set or two of clothes and Y’shtola’s favorite pair of Fen-Yll shoes. She finds herself leaving more and more of herself with Lyse, and it’s not just physical items.

Tonight when she visits Lyse, the Highlander is frustrated about recent news. It appears Zeno’s corpse has somehow misplaced itself from it’s tomb. According to Alisaie, the crown prince is alive and orchestrating nefarious schemes in Garlemald. It’s likely an Ascian wearing his flesh. Troubling as it is, there is naught they can do about it for the time being. In an attempt to distract Lyse from her distress, Y’shtola ushers her into her cozy gazelle leather chair.

Wrapped up in blankets and Lyse’s strong arms, Y’shtola reads to her tales from the Gyr Albanian book Mhitra gave her. She thinks Lyse has fallen asleep, her chin resting upon Y’shtola’s shoulder. But then she kisses her neck softly, just above her Archon’s mark, trying to keep her voice hushed as she asks her questions about the stories. Y’shtola gives her what answers she has. Their discussions lead to the stories Lyse had heard variations of as a child, either from refugees around a campfire or Yda. When she grows tired, she shuts the book in her lap and leans her head back in the Ala Mhigan’s embrace. She smiles sleepily as she kisses Lyse’s cheek. It’s times like this she starts to see the appeal of settling down…  
Especially when it’s become so difficult to say goodbye in the morning.

Trouble brews in Doma. With the most recent primal summoning a result not of faith but of need… they are forced to redefine what they know about primals. Again. Y’shtola is excited to go to Othard in anycase. She’s heard much about Kugane and Doma from Lyse and even has a small list of local delicacies she wants to try based on the Highlander’s many enthusiastic recommendations.

Mhitra catches her in Mor Dhona before she leaves, hugging her and pressing a small book into her hands.

“For the trip.” She says, squeezing her shoulders lightly.“Take care, Shtola.”

“Thank you, Mhitra. Try not to make too much trouble while I’m away.”

“Trouble? I think you’ve mistook me for yourself.”

“I’m fairly certain there’s a chance you’ll unravel the secrets of Allagan cloning ere I return, just so you can compose a research team entirely of yourself.”

Mhitra tsks, but mumbles to herself, “Not a bad idea…”

Y’shtola raises a brow at her, giving her a small wave. She grips her baggage tighter with her other hand. One thought and she becomes adrift the aetherical sea, following the current to reemerge at Limsa Lominsa’s aetheryte. Once she settles on the ship to Kugane, she takes a moment to examine the braille booklet Mhitra gave her. It’s a small guide to the cultures and monuments found in Kugane. She smiles, amused but grateful for her sisters thoughtfulness.

She is greeted with hugs by an exuberant Tataru in Kugane, before she is whisked away for dinner and conversation. It does her well to see her friend, so happy and at home in such a far away land. Afterwards, the Archon is eager to go to work. There is much land --and sea to cover, so Y’shtola narrows her points of interest to where the latest primal activity occurred.

Her first destination is in the Ruby Sea, as close as she can get to the Isle of Zekki. She travels northeast of Hell’s Lid, upon the molten crags to set the first aetherometer. She attracts the attention of hostile Apas, yet their splashes with each attempted attack are avoided with ease. Y’shtola rips them apart with aero and stone, leaving naught behind. When the tool is finished recording, she returns to a small borrowed boat. Walking along the beach of Isari, she sets up an aetherometer on the southernmost shore.

While she waits for the tool to take the readings she stands upon a rock above the waters, listening to the waves crash over the sands and feeling the sea breeze. Somehow, it is both familiar and so distinctly different than the Lominsan seaside. It is a joy to travel to new places again. She wishes Lyse were here, so that they could explore these places together. All she can do is recall Lyse’s voice as she ventures further into Yanxia with the aetherometer, wondering how she's doing and if she’s missing her too.

In the span of a few days, she collects a sizable amount of information, both from aetherometer readings and from the locals. The result is becoming frighteningly the same at every turn, the aether is thinning. Even the lands crystals, once so abundant in aspected aether are becoming rarer and less potent. The primal threat is only compounding the issue. It is a surprise when Alisaie approaches her in Doma, asking her assistance in tracking down Alphinaud, a request of which she could in no way refuse.

Alisaie is accompanied by a Scion who goes by Klyngeiss, a Hellsguard woman who Y’shtola admittedly knows little about beyond what Lyse has told her. She joined them by the recommendation of one of their Warriors of Light, as she also possessed a form of the echo. Though her role mostly consisted of tradescraft and supply, the war effort in Gyr Albania had motivated her to pick up arms. As such, she trained with Lyse in Rhalgr’s Reach and was one of the heroes that faced down Shinryu in Ala Mhigo. Considering Lyse’s tendency of latching onto Roegadyn women and calling them her sisters, Y’shtola is not surprised of her fondness for the woman.

She bids them to go on ahead to Lord Hien to make travel preparations to the Burn. With a deep breath, she siphons a part of her reserves. It’s a sharp pain in her chest that ebbs into a dull ache in her joints. She feels the pressure of the aether intensify, from every corner and just on the edges of her fingertips. It becomes tangible and the world lights up around her, the aether of every being, every object, shimmering in various colors before her. The pain eases with a sigh of relief. Y’shtola calculates she should be able to maintain the aetheric sight for mayhap a days worth. Yes, this should be satisfactory. Wherever their path may lead them, she will be prepared.

Their search takes them into the wastes, where the land is so devoid of aether that Y’shtola would think she’s still blinded if not for the colors and currents that compose her companions. Alphinaud is not there. Instead there is wreckage and the faintest lingering aether from the Garlean corpses littering the area. They come to the conclusion that it was an attack sent by the personal soldiers of the royal family. Empty handed, they make their way back to the Enclave. A foreign emissary awaits Hien there and he asks the Scions to join him in the meeting.

The five walk down the corridors of the Kienkan, Y’shtola lingering to the side of the group as Alisaie trails behind. She muses on the state of her allies, especially at the dimmed presence of Alisaie’s usually vibrant magenta aether. She’s taking Alphinaud’s disappearance hard. The rest of her companions aether feel of the stalwart determination they usually keep. Tis good, as they would need to be as level headed as possible for the uncertainty that the future holds.

Her thoughts are interrupted at the sound of the doors to the meeting room sliding open to the right of them. It’s unmistakable, the robust aether within composed of fiery will and optimism that quickens her heart, culminating in the swirl of reds trailing from the woman sitting in the middle of the room.

Y’shtola strides to the front of the group at once, almost all too eagerly proclaiming, “Lyse! What brings you here?”

Lyse’s carefully regulated aether spikes at the sound of Y’shtola’s voice and she scrambles up from her seat. It’s been at least a moon since the last time they’ve been together. She strides towards the group, the sparks of her outline, the sensation of her presence ever sharpening.

“Oh, Alliance business. We have a request for Doma --well, Hien.” She states, looking between them. As Lyse learns of the results of their search for Alphinaud by Klyngeiss, Y’shtola finds it exquisitely painful in that she can not embrace her. They stand but a fulm apart yet it felt like the entire Glass Ocean with the eyes of their companions all around them.

Hien takes his place at the head of the council room with Yugiri beside him. And still, Lyse is too far from her. Gods, it’s really been too long. It’s entirely disconcerting, this _fixation_ she has. Never did Y’shtola imagine she would feel this way so strongly for someone. It’s all she can do to keep from smiling at her, although she really can’t help but stare. It’s one of the few occasions Y’shtola is able to _see_ her and she is certainly not going to waste it.

As the talks turn to cheering up Alisaie, Y’shtola sneaks a stride closer to Lyse’s side. The Highlander inclines her head the slightest bit at her and smiles for a fraction of a second. Mayhap if Y’shtola keeps her arms crossed tightly enough, it will keep her from doing anything foolish. Lyse asks why the Emperor would send his troops to sabotage a mission he had given his blessing to proceed. Hien and Yugiri surmise it is the work of another of the royal family, namely the crown prince. The machinations of an Ascian, Y’shtola clarifies grimly.

Lyse announces that Ala Mhigo has agreed to join the Alliance and that a formal meeting will take place in Ala Mhigo’s Royal Palace. Doma is invited to join them so that they may unite against Garlemald. Hien agrees to the proposal, but requests time to assure Doma’s protection before he departs. There is a short recess before Hien’s next meeting with his advisor’s regarding Doma’s defenses and he welcomes the Scions to join.

Suddenly, Y’shtola is running scenarios in her head to make Lyse stay, if only for a little longer. While Lyse asks Klyngeiss to speak with her outside, Y’shtola decides it is time to put her plan into action. As she excuses herself, Alisaie turns her attention to her as she walks by.

She lightly grasps the Archon’s wrist, whispering, “Don’t leave me alone here!”

“I will be back shortly.” Y’shtola assures her, gently squeezing the young Scion’s shoulder.

“I’m _not_ equipped for politics!” Alisaie hisses, fretting as Y’shtola continues to the sliding doors. The sound of her huff is muffed as the door slides closed.

Once outside, Y’shtola goes towards the docks, peeking through the decorative holes cut into the stone fence. She waits until Lyse and Klyngeiss’ conversation concerning Alisaie’s wellbeing is concluded. The Roegadyn pats her arm with a nod and departs, making her way back into the Enclave’s inner walls. As soon as she is gone Y’shtola steps out, calling to the Ala Mhigan. Lyse perks up and the Archon beckons her to follow. She weaves through the back streets of the rebuilt Doman Enclave and finds herself a hiding spot far from the noise of the market and construction. Between a building, stalks of bamboo, and a stone fence, she waits.

The instant Lyse comes around the corner, she pounces, pinning the taller woman against the wall. She muffles Lyse’s yelp of pleasant surprise with a searing kiss, pressing herself as close as possible to her favorite woman. Lyse’s arms wrap around her, pressing firmly to the small of her back, the other finding it’s way into Y’shtola’s hair.

“Gods, Shtola...”

“Hush,” She purrs, “‘Twould be a shame if someone happened upon us.”

She mouths kisses along the exposed flesh of the Highlander’s shoulders and collar bone, dragging her teeth along fair skin. She pauses, highly tempted to mark her but thinks better of it. People would definitely notice that. Instead, she finds her mouth again, biting and tugging her bottom lip lightly. She runs her tongue over her lip to soothe it before kissing her deeper, brushing her tongue against Lyse’s. A moan escapes from the Ala Mhigan, who holds her tighter with barely restrained desire. She kisses Y’shtola back just as passionately and in turn, the Archon claws along Lyse’s muscular thighs, dragging over the loose fabric of her pants. She feels as though she’s overheating, and she wants more, so much more, of Lyse and her touch and the delightful sounds she makes.

Yet, just as suddenly as they began, Y’shtola pulls away from her lips. They take a moment to catch their breath, and she rests her forehead against Lyse’s shoulder. “Let us…” She leans back to meet the taller woman’s eyes, “continue this activity in Ala Mhigo. I will hurry to visit you once my work here is finished.”

Lyse gives a dazed and endearing little grin, “Hehe heh, okay.” She kisses Y’shtola’s temple, leaning her head slightly on hers. “I missed you lots.”

She basks in their embrace, wishing that they could have more time. Reluctantly, she steps back from the taller woman. “I missed you too,” she smiles, “if you couldn’t tell.”

Another one of Lyse’s giggles answers her. She snaps out of her daze. “Oh-” Lyse reaches up, gently caressing Y’shtola’s hair, “Sorry, I, uh.”

“It’s not too disheveled is it?”

“No!” Lyse squeaks and Y’shtola furrows her brows in doubt. She runs her fingers through the Archon’s soft hair once more, before smiling, “The boatman is probably looking for me.”

“Travel safely, Lyse.” Y’shtola waves, moving backward. She doesn’t want to look away from Lyse until she absolutely has to.

“You too, Shtola. I, uh…” Lyse pauses, fidgeting. Is she nervous? Before she can inquire as to what troubles her, Lyse clears her throat, “I lov- I look forward to seeing you. Later. In Ala Mhigo. Yes.”

Y’shtola nods. “Soon, Lyse.”

Lyse shifts awkwardly, before she hesitantly leaves her. Odd. Out of time to contemplate Lyse’s apparent anxiety, Y’shtola hurriedly returns to the Kienkan. When she enters, she sees that Alisaie is sitting on one side of the mat in proper Doman fashion. Klyngeiss arrives just behind her with a small tray of food, sitting beside Alisaie and sharing it between the two of them.

They both look at Y’shtola expectantly.

“What?”

Alisaie shrugs, “Oh, nothing. Would you like some takoyaki or did you already have a snack?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll, i just think watching y'shtola in the first cutscene of Shadows in the Empire is highly entertaining.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to my bud shaede for beta read and angst xd

The Ala Mhigan Palace is a bustle of activity, trusted Resistance soldiers and assistants running to and fro to prepare for the inaugural Alliance meeting. Lyse has her hands full making sure that the palace and amenities are worthy and representative of Ala Mhigo’s pride. Too long have they lived in the squalor of the city states as refugees, spit on and turned away at the gates. This is their time to change that image, for Ala Mhigo to be recognized as an equal.

The leaders and their envoys begin to arrive over the course of two days, first Gridania, followed by Ul’dah, Ishgard, and then Lominsa. Lyse looks over the finer parts of the security detail for any possible holes, still wary from the incident in Ul’dah that nearly cost them everything. She double checks it purely due to anxiety and to keep herself occupied as she awaits Doma’s arrival. It’s more _acceptable_ for Lyse to tunnel her energy into paperwork than to go punch the nearest training dummy or run twenty laps around the city. Ah, the price of being a “proper” representative. 

It is two bells past noon when she receives word of Doma’s arrival. What she did not anticipate is Shtola, Alisaie, and Klyn being part of Hien’s entourage. On second thought, she should not be so surprised. She orders the final security group to their positions, escorting Hien to where he could rest and store his luggage. Lyse keeps sneaking glances over at Shtola from across the pavilion, cursing her checklist for not including notes for how she is going to address _her_. 

Finally, it’s the hour of the meeting. Lyse stands by the grand door leading into the Palace council chambers with a warm smile to greet the leaders, friends both new and old. As the Scions make their way inside, Lyse freezes up at the sight of Shtola. Her face reddens at the memory of their last encounter. She does her best to regain her composure as Thancred and Alisaie pass by, greeting her with smiles of their own, although Alisaie’s is much weaker than she would like. She wishes she could do more for the younger woman, though she knows unfortunately from experience the toll a missing sibling takes on a person and that naught else save but their safe return can salve it. 

Shtola lingers at the back of the group and smirks at Lyse as she brushes quite purposefully against her. Lyse’s breath hitches, yet she can do nothing but clench her fists in restraint. 

“Sorry.” She says, not sounding the least bit sorry. 

“Mhm.” Lyse manages a high-pitched hum in response, not trusting her mouth to make words. What was that woman planning? Maybe tonight they could… She bites back flashes of every fantasy she’s ever had about Shtola because gods, this _really_ isn’t the time. 

They each take their seats at the large table, Ala Mhigo at the head, the Alliance on one side, the Scions on the other, and Doma at the end. Lyse takes one last glance at her notes before stuffing the small bit of paper into her sleeve. That hidden sleeve pocket has quite literally saved her more times than the blade sheathed in it. She can’t keep herself from sneaking a glimpse at Shtola.  
 ...Who is currently staring at her while sipping her tea. 

“How is the tea?” Lyse asks. “It’s an Ala Mhigan specialty blend.”

“Pleasant. I find it suits my tastes _quite_ well.” 

“Heh. If you’d like, I could get a batch for you. I have some at our-- Uh.”

Shtola smiles. Lyse swallows nervously, “...At my home.” 

Thancred suddenly plops down in his seat between them and Lyse is forced to look away from her partner, focusing instead on her own teacup. He clasps his hands together as he looks between the two of them, eyebrows raised. “Sorry about that, had to answer my linkpearl.”

Lyse just nods as Raubahn sits on her other side. With everyone in their places, Nanamo opens the meeting. She formally welcomes Ala Mhigo to the Alliance. Kan-E-Senna then welcomes Doma. Pleasantries aside, they move on to the one antagonist that unites each of their nations: the Garlean Empire. Thancred suggests that they plant information in Garlemald to push the factions within into another war of succession. 

Before they can discuss the plan in further detail, all of the Scions are suddenly writhing in pain. Lyse is standing before she realizes it, yet she has no idea what to do or from where their torment is coming from. The leaders are shouting, questions of infiltrators. It can’t be, she triple checked the security before the meeting! 

Then, just as abruptly as it began, it stops. Shtola appears so _fragile_ as she cautiously looks around. 

“Is it over?” 

A shaken Alisaie shares a look with the Miqo’te beside her. Lyse wants nothing but to be able to hold them and punch whatever it is that hurt them. She opens her mouth to speak but then Thancred crashes onto the ground between them. Oh gods.

Kan-E-Senna rushes to his side to inspect him and the utter urgency in her tone is alarming.  _  
_ _“Bear him to a private chamber. Have every healer make ready. Swiftly!”_

Outside the healers chambers, they regroup to discuss their affliction. Lyse is deeply concerned for her friends, for Shtola. Thancred’s body now lies vacant. A calling of the soul from the body, as Kan-E-Senna describes it. The situation feels so drastic without any ideas for a cure, or from whence the attack originated. Or when it could happen again. Thancred was susceptible due to his prior possession, but how soon would it be that the Scions would be assailed once more?

The Archon turns to her, “Forgive us, Lyse, but may we leave Thancred in your care for a time?”

“As if you had to ask. I may not be a Scion anymore, but I'm no less a friend. Don't worry, I'll see to it that Thancred's well looked after. Just focus on solving this mystery, alright?” 

Shtola smiles softly, “Thank you, Lyse.”  

There’s something there in her expression, beyond the tenderness in it. She realizes as Shtola and Alisaie walk away that it is bittersweetness, an apology. For things put on hold. For not being able to say goodbye as they normally would if they were alone. Not that Lyse resents her for it one bit. The circumstances are dire. Klyn gives Lyse a nod before following the Scions back to the aetheryte. She sighs as she crosses her arms, looking back towards the door that Thancred lies just beyond. If there is anyone in the realm that can unravel this enigma, it is Shtola and Urianger. This isn’t a problem her fists can fix.

The sun is setting over Ala Mhigo when Lyse gets the call, Alisaie’s voice breaking on the other end of the linkpearl.

“They’re… _they’re gone_ and I-- I don’t--”

“Who’s gone? Alisaie?”

“U-Urianger and--” She struggles to talk through her sobs. Lyse frowns, dread opening like a vicious maw in her gut. After a shaky breath, Alisaie finally manages to utter, “Y’shtola.” 

“No.” Lyse replies instantly. “Are you sure? She can’t- They can’t be. It hasn’t even been that long-” She can still feel the ghost of her warmth upon her skin. Shtola’s head on her shoulder, the stolen kisses she trailed upon her neck. Her alluring smirk over the rim of the teacup. Shtola’s unseeing eyes, still shimmering with such softness, such genuine _affection_ when she spoke to her. She _can’t_ be... 

“They’re gone.” Alisaie repeats, almost mechanically. “Y’shtola’s sister was outside at the time and she examined them. She said… She said they’re empty. It’s just like Thancred.”

An icy chill washes over her, trapping her breath in her throat. She feels gravity slip out from under her, her knees hitting the floor. Her fists are closed so tightly that her nails are digging into palms. Godsdamn it, she was just here! Where was Lyse --in the middle of another meeting while Shtola _was being torn from her very body_ ? She should have been there. She should have...  
And as much as Lyse wants to cry, wants to scream, she grits her teeth and keeps herself together even as her eyes burn with unshed tears. For Alisaie. 

“Alisaie.” She says, as firmly and as comforting as she can manage even as she trembles. “You must needs stay calm.” Lyse isn’t sure if she’s saying it more to herself or to Alisaie.

“ _How am I to remain calm!?”_ The young woman snaps.  
After a shaky breath, Alisaie groans into her linkpearl, “I’m sorry…”

“It’s alright.” Lyse replies, making her way towards the infirmary. “Are they being attended to by healers?” 

“Yes. And… I think it would be best if Thancred was moved here as well.” 

“I agree. They should be watched together.” She enters the patient’s wing, receiving a questioning look from the conjurer on duty. Lyse leans on the wall to steady herself. 

“Okay. See you soon...?” Alisaie asks, her question trailing off with such doubt and fear that it breaks Lyse’s already fractured heart.  

“Yes. I’ll make haste to the Rising Stones with him in tow.” 

“Good.” Alisaie breathes in relief. 

Lyse gives the order to the healer to have Thancred prepared for transport. She hastily writes out two notes, one for M’naago and one for Raubahn, explaining the situation. Naught but a bell later, Lyse is cramped in a chocobo carriage bearing a healer and Thancred from Ala Mhigo through the Peaks and the Fringes. 

They take a short break at Castrum Oriens to stretch. The next leg of the journey pulls them through the Black Shroud. Under the dark of night and a heavy heart, Lyse can’t help but have flashbacks to when she was but a small child seeking succor in Gridania with Yda. They had taken this route too, only to be rejected and cast away. 

When she manages to shake those thoughts, she is instead haunted by her consuming panic about the Scions --about _Shtola_. With both Urianger and Shtola down, they just lost perhaps sixty percent of the brainpower behind the Scions. Slowly but surely, they are losing the leaders, the decision makers, the advisors, and what are weapons without the minds to point them in the right direction? Twelve knows Lyse is no scholar.

 She starts mentally compiling a list. She may not be a genius, but she has connections to people who might be. Alisaie and Krile are going to need all the help they can get. It’s distraction enough to keep her restlessness at bay for the rest of the journey. Lyse thinks she understands now how Yda, Papalymo, and Shtola always seemed so strong at times like this. It wasn’t because they were not afraid themselves, but because they _had_ to be steadfast, for her sake. Now it’s her who wears a brave face, for Alisaie, for the nation of people who look up to her. Somehow, she’s become the sort of person she spent her life admiring. It doesn’t feel any different though, and it does not make any of this easier. 

It’s with great trepidation that she steps into the Rising Stones just before daybreak. It’s deathly quiet and all too familiar to when she visited Shtola while she was mortally wounded. Alisaie steps out from the hall, welcoming Lyse with a stiff hug. She squeezes her comfortingly as the Elezen sniffles into her shoulder. Thancred is transported to the private chambers, presumably to his room. 

Alisaie does not have much to say, which is just as well, as Lyse can only offer nods. Krile is looking equally haggard from her emergency trip from that island in the Glass Ocean. She’s flipping through multiple books piled by Tataru’s desk. The Lalafell glances up from the pages to exchange a solemn look with Lyse as she passes by to the personal Scion’s quarters. Her feet take her there by muscle memory, her hand trembling as she opens the door and slips inside. 

Shtola looks almost as lifeless as she did after Zenos. Worse, even, especially when Lyse knows that her soul is no longer inhabiting her body. That the astute Archon may _never_ wake up. Not if they can’t find a cure. How does one even reclaim a soul?

She sits in the chair beside Shtola’s bed, numbly noting the ornate Higan music box she gave her from when she came back from Doma was still on her side table. There’s new things too, such as a mounted box shelf containing objects organized seemingly by origin. One holds fragments of the columns and aetherytes of Sharlayan, as well as a small broom. When she looks at the center box, she instantly recognizes the sun burnt stone resting upon a worn violet fabric, accompanied by a pile of Lyse’s drawings.   
Gods, why did she even keep those? They aren’t particularly good and Shtola can’t even see them--

Her vision blurs, the tears falling from eyes as the pain in her chest becomes overwhelming. She buries her head in her hands and lets the tears burn trails down her cheeks with a shuddering sob. A breakdown is unseemly for a Commander. But in here, no one can witness her… not even Shtola. 

She’s not sure how much time has passed when there is a light knock upon the chamber door. Lyse does not respond as the door creaks open and the visitor carefully steps in. She senses their presence beside her but can’t be bothered to even lift her head. A hand touches her back, gentle enough to not burden her yet solid enough to let her know she’s not alone in her pain. 

It’s all Y’mhitra can offer. The other Rhul stares despondently at her sister’s form. When Lyse can finally pull herself from her sorrow, she stands to properly greet the scholar. As well as someone who is sleep deprived and broken can, at least. It’s a terrible state to be in and she dislikes giving Shtola’s sister such a poor impression. It seems the only time they meet is in moments like this. She rubs her eyes, long exhausted of their tears. 

“Thanks Y’mhitra. I’m sorry, I just…” She looks at Shtola’s face again, vainly hoping she would just wake up, or grimace, or _something_ -anything- but remain a hollow shell. 

“I love her.” Lyse whispers. The words slip out, unbidden, and Lyse’s chest tightens at how they’re both so right and so wrong.

Right because it is the truth, and she had been meaning to tell her yesterday when she came to visit in Ala Mhigo. Because she had faltered each and every time she wanted to tell her before. And so terribly wrong because this is not how she meant to say it, not in a heartbroken whisper by Shtola’s soulless body. 

“I know.”

Lyse turns to her, surprise spilling over her grief, “She told you?”

“Told me… what?” Y’mhitra replies, eyeing her sister and Lyse suspiciously. 

“Nothing!” Lyse says all too quickly. Which only makes Y’mhitra’s brow raise further. She scrutinizes Lyse a moment longer before letting it slide. 

“I’ve been looking into possible ties to Allagan tampering as well as any related forbidden spells, but in so far have discovered naught pertaining to the fallen Scions condition.” 

Lyse follows Y’mhitra’s lead, reluctantly leaving Shtola’s room. 

“The Sons of Saint Coinach are doing the best they can to decode any tomestones from the Crystal Tower that may help. I’ve been visiting Azys Lla with the aid of my summoner friend, Arixe, and pursuing the information nodes there. Rest assured, if there is a connection, I _will_ find it.” 

The main room of the Rising Stones is slightly more crowded than before and for a brief moment, Lyse forgets that she’s no longer a Scion. Conjurers and scholars filter through the wary eyes of Riol and Hoary Boulder, giving few the clearance to assist the prone Scions.

Further back, by the crates and discarded deck of cards, she spots Alisaie and Klyn. She’s still downcast, conversing with a vaguely familiar Miqo’te lady who moves closer and hugs her. Judging by her esoteric winged garb and the odd colored carbuncle by her feet, as well as the ease at which Alisaie, Klyn, and Y’mhitra regard her, she surmises that she must be Arixe, the aforementioned summoner friend. Klyn easily scoops the two smaller women into a group hug. It makes Alisaie chuckle, however weakly, and that gives Lyse some measure of relief. 

She sits at the table with Krile and Y’mhitra to discuss how to move forward. 

“I’ve examined Thancred. Tis true, his condition is much the same as Y’shtola and Urianger.” Krile states. She shows them the notes that Urianger recorded prior to his collapse, comparisons to obscure prophecies annotated in his journal. She sighs and gestures to the stack of books beside her, “All of these theories seem inconclusive. I’m going to seek aid from Master Matoya again. It’s a stretch but mayhap I can track to where their souls have gone. And… if not, perchance there is something she may know that can help us.”

“Okay.” Lyse doesn’t quite know the specifics of it, having been enveloped in the resistance when Krile initially enlisted Matoya’s assistance. Hopefully she is lucky in her search. “I’m going to contact some scholars and specialists on my end. Anyone in Gyr Albania who might know anything--” She shakes her head with a sigh, “I know an outspoken Ala Mhigan scholar I can make inquiries to as well. Cast a wide net, right?”

Y’mhitra and Krile nod encouragingly to her. Krile hops off her chair with a wave and goes to Alisaie to inform her of her plan. Lyse tiredly lifts herself from the table to grab some parchment, a quill, and ink. She starts drafting letters while she’s still exhausted enough that emotions don’t tear her apart as she writes these words, pleas for help, on behalf of the Scions. 

“Lyse.”

“Hm?” She looks up to Y’mhitra across the desk. She’s drumming her fingers on the page of her heavily used journal.

“Pray get some rest before you go. It would not do for you to end up in a horrific teleportation accident due to your lack of rest.” 

Lyse yawns involuntarily in response. “Ugh. Yeah, I will. Don’t worry. I just want to finish this while I’ve still got the words.”

Y’mhitra nods, and resumes writing, occasionally flipping back to previous pages to underline and circle things. Lyse seals the letters in envelopes and approaches Riol, informing him of their intended recipients. He nods and assures that he will handle the correspondence and send her any updates. She thanks him and then heads to the personal chambers. 

Her room is still there, nameplate and all, untouched save for the few items she moved to her Ala Mhigan home. Once she lies down, her entire body sinks into the once familiar bed. Exhaustion sets in, every limb a dead weight, yet her mind is still plagued. She used to be able to fall asleep while sitting up. Feels like a lifetime ago. All she wants right now is to hold Shtola in her arms again and listen to the way she sometimes purrs when she sleeps, nuzzled against her. The warmth of the memory is nearly enough to lull her to sleep, if it weren’t for the ache in her chest reminding her that those moments may never happen again. 

A few bells pass and she feels not one onze better or rested, but it will have to do. She visits Shtola’s side once more, finding the faintest amount of comfort in that her hand is still warm and that her heart yet still beats. By Rhalgr, she will find a way to bring Shtola and their friends back. At the least, she will do her best to assist those who can. Lyse frowns at her own hand, still gently holding Shtola’s. The candle light glimmers off the Ala Mhigan ring and chain attaching it to both the red aether infused jewel and to her bracelet.  

Where she needs to be right now is Ala Mhigo. That’s where she can be of most help to everyone. It’s difficult to accept and even harder to make herself leave. She presses one last kiss to Shtola’s knuckles, whispering, “I’ll be back, I promise.” 

She teleports herself to Rhalgr’s Reach, making haste to the command table. M’naago is quick to greet her with a hug. “When I read the note, I was so worried. Has aught changed?”

Lyse shakes her head with a sigh. 

“Commander Hext!” A Resistance soldier runs up to them and salutes. “We have reports of a group of Garleans in our borders!”

“What?” Lyse clenches her fists. “Have they been engaged?”

“No, our scouts are following them. They are different than the typical squadron, so we want for your instruction.” 

“I want to see this.” Lyse growls, turning to M’naago. “Tell Commander Aldynn we have company.”

Lyse and the soldier take griffins to the Peaks. It’s fairly easy to spot the enemy, hanging around a snuffed out campfire and packing their bags to move on. With naught a concern for safety nor subtlety, she lands her griffin right in front of them. If they seek a confrontation, she is more than ready to provide one. Lyse would really, really enjoy something to punch right now. 

A man with tied hair and glasses steps ahead of the group and pulls a tattered white fabric from his pack, waving it at her. She meets him halfway, two Resistance soldiers joining her side. 

“Why are you in Ala Mhigan territory?” Lyse asks sharply, eyeing him and his followers suspiciously.

“Excuse us, Miss--”

“Hext.”

“Miss Hext, I am Maxima quo Priscis. Pray listen to our tale, we are but defectors. We are of the Populares and we’ve had to flee from the Empire.”

“Populares? The group that was in Doma and worked with Lord Hien and the Scions?”

“Yes. I traveled with Master Alphinaud for a time.”

Sternly, Lyse turns to the Resistance soldiers. “Escort them to the capital and into Commander Aldynn’s care. No one is to harm them or else they’ll answer to me.” 

Three more Resistance soldiers come out from behind the tall rocks, joining a formation around the defectors. As they leave for the capital, Lyse returns to her griffin’s side, her hand brushing gently over the white feathers. It’s not as soft as Shtola’s hair. She shakes the random thought away as her linkpearl connects to Raubahn. 

She updates him on the situation, explaining that he would soon have guests at the capital. He intends on interrogating them himself before passing judgement, though he is not want to turn a cold shoulder to the plight of refugees, no matter their origin. 

Alisaie is quick to answer when Lyse calls her, excited to speak to the defectors herself on the subject of Alphinaud’s trail. Before long, they are assembled in Ala Mhigo. Alisaie is quick to draw on Maxima, her questions having festered in her mind for too long. _Where is Alphinaud?  
_He tells them of her brother’s whereabouts since the confrontation in the Burn, having joined the mysterious Shadowhunter, although he knows not where he is now. It’s reassurance enough to bring Alisaie a measure of relief. In their travels since, they have discovered resistances crushed overnight by a deadly weapon.The Empire’s forces are moving westward-- to Ala Mhigo. It is frightening news, as they do not have the strength or defenses yet to withstand an attack so soon. As Raubahn starts giving orders to shore up their defenses and inform the Alliance, Lyse requests that Alisaie and Klyn take word to Doma. They would need the full strength of the Alliance to head off the incoming invasion. But then the two Scions crumple, clutching at their heads. Panic rises in Lyse once more, stepping forth to catch Alisaie should she collapse. Thankfully, both of the Scions return to their senses. 

“Why does this keep happening!?” Lyse demands. 

Alisaie frowns, “I wish I knew.” Her tone suggests that even Matoya had yielded no answers. 

Lyse is forced to stay and watch them leave again, wondering if she will even see them return. The frequency of these attacks are not slowing down. Even worse, she wonders if it has claimed someone else who did not have the company of allies in that moment. Lyse would give anything to take their place, so that Alisaie would not suffer. So that Shtola… No. There are things she must do, she mustn't forget that. Lyse has spent too many years believing things would be better if she had been the one that died instead. She can but push on.

The Resistance is frantic with fortification efforts. Lyse is rather impressed by the progress they are making. In the span of three days, they build a large encampment just beyond the Ghimlyt Dark. Or well, she thinks it’s been three days. Truth is, hours and days are starting to blend into each other as she struggles with sleep only to wake to the nightmare that is reality. She can’t even bring herself to go home anymore, to naught but an empty room full of her and Shtola’s things. Instead, she stays out in the field, camping on the rock peaks or staying in the barracks. 

Alisaie calls her nearly every night now, to have someone to talk to, or maybe just to remind herself that they are still awake. Though Lyse tries to be optimistic, she feels her hope dwindling. What will become of Eorzea if all of the Scions are snuffed out? What will become of _her?_

Raubahn’s concern is great enough that he speaks with her alone. He puts a hand on her shoulder and says, “Keep your head, lass.”   
Even though Lyse promises she will and that she’s fine… She’s not certain she can.

As the Empire darkens Ala Mhigo’s horizon, Lyse has to do something she is not at all fond of: send a person to what could very well mean death. It is, without a doubt, the worst part of becoming a Commander. Five volunteer to be the Alliance’s envoy to the Empire. Their safe return to the Alliance a few bells later is a welcome blessing. Surprisingly, the Empire agrees to their proposal for peace talks.  

It is with relief that she greets the Scions again, despite being on the precipice of war. Alisaie bears both good and bad news. Alphinaud is returned, but he is stricken just like the fallen Scions from before. Gaius Baelsar lives and hunts Ascians. Together with Alphinaud, they discovered the Empire’s deadly gas manufactory and dismantled it. Somehow, with all the terrible events that have happened in just the past few months, these things don’t even phase Lyse anymore. She’s become desensitized. Or maybe just so very numb. 

Alisaie agrees to be the Scion’s representative at the meeting with a groan. Although Lyse finds it entertaining, she also wants to protest, to say, ‘Do you think _I_ enjoy politics?’ 

They prepare, sending outfitters out to gather as many gas masks and for every one person while the Alliance leaders make way to convene with Emperor Varis zos Galvus. Lyse tries her best to keep her face from reflecting the amount of revulsion and anger incited at seeing the Imperial Standard. Her desire to rip it apart is only topped by her urge to smash the Emperor’s face in when he enters the room. Bless Nanamo’s little soul for the amount of politeness she portrays as she calls that man ‘ _Your Radiance’_. What a load of shit. 

The other leaders also struggle to contain their rage, to which Varis takes great pleasure in manipulating. Their talks only lead in infuriating circles of blame and it is only due to Alisaie’s plea that they are granted a time to rethink their approach. When the talks begin again, she does her best to do it with a clear mind. 

With Hien’s explanation of the inconsistencies of the Empire’s doctrine, Lyse points out that it all sounds like an excuse. 

“Why are you really waging this war?”

It makes Varis smirk, and she's not sure she actually wanted to elicit that response. They get their answers in the form of an absolute madman’s rant about the impurity of their multiple races. That his goal is to rejoin the worlds so that there would only be one ‘perfect’ race. 

Honestly, Lyse isn’t quite sure what in Rhalgr’s name that even _means_ , but she’s quite happy with her Miqo’te lover, her small Elezen sister, and larger Roegadyn sister. She was practically adopted by a Lalafell, herself. She would not trade any of the peoples of the realm for some ‘superior’ race. Hells take him! When the gravity of what he wants sinks in -that he’s truly serious about triggering multiple calamities for his plan- Lyse stands, slamming her hands on the table. For the briefest moment, she fears she’s overstepped, but she’s glad she manages not to leap over the table to strangle that disgusting man in his stupid hat. The other leaders stand in protest as well. Nanamo dismisses him, proclaiming that it is their differences that make them stronger and that Varis is not fit to rule. He leaves, promising them naught but war. 

Gods, what an absolute shit show. At least the talks accomplished two things, establishing the Empire’s motives and buying time for their reinforcements from Doma to arrive. The minutes are ticking away now, and though she does not want for more death among their own, Lyse would be lying if she said she wasn’t spoiling for a fight. 

Raubahn gives some last orders, designating where the Scions would lend their strength. Seems Alisaie is just as eager to take to the field. Lyse just hopes she makes it out alright. Though she trusts Klyn’s shield to ward off any blows that may come to them, she can’t help but worry. Adventurers join the crowd of soldiers, cheering along as Raubahn rallies their forces. The diversity of uniforms, faces, and cultures that forms the Alliance’s forces just stand as further testament against everything the Empire wants to destroy. 

People begin to disperse to their squads, clearing the area. Alisaie and Klyn are talking as Krile and that summoner-- Arixe joins them. Lyse approaches them, exchanging a challenging look with Klyn just to see who would do it first. Alisaie raises an eyebrow, looking between the two larger women before uttering, “Don’t--”

“Too late.” Lyse grins, hugging the Elezen and reaching to pull Krile into it too. Klyn squishes a shrieking Arixe into the hug pile and squeezes them all gently with a laugh. The women hold each other, steadying themselves after the pain they’ve endured and the uncertainty that still lies ahead. 

“We’re in this together.” Lyse speaks as they break apart from the group hug, “For our friends, for Eorzea. So, please stay safe out there.” 

Alisaie pushes a finger against Lyse’s collarbone, “Only if you do the same. So, don’t you dare,” She looks around sternly at the few friends she still has left, “leave me alone. If any of you do, I swear, I won’t let you hear the end of it.” Her eyes are bright with repressed tears, though she tries to make light of it. “I’ll verraise you myself if I have to!” 

Lyse gives her a salute with a smile as she back steps and heads to meet with her squadron. If she stays any longer, she may just cry. Commander Hext has not the time for tears or doubts. Not here, not now. The plan is to converge with Ul’dah’s forces led by Pipin to form a spearhead through the Empire's weak points. The rest is more or less just hoping for the best. 

The war horn blares across the encampment, immediately deafened by the roar of gunfire and explosions to the east. It is not an exaggeration what they say about Ghimlyt, a land so defiled and devoid of light. She leads her soldiers through blackened trenches and wartorn machinima. With every confrontation they meet, Lyse is the first to strike. Her charge swifter than the wind and her fists more ferocious than the largest wildfire. It is with satisfaction that she takes the bulk of the Imperial’s ire, ripping them apart in rapid succession before they can harm those who follow her. 

There is a sort of calm to be found in the flow of combat and aether, from each of her forms, to each kick into every true strike. A chain of momentum and lightning, shifting and growing until she releases it upon a Schola Predator with a vicious Tornado Kick that blasts apart the metal plating, spilling ceruleum and parts across the dirt. She bounces on her feet, only beginning to warm up. Pipin and his infantry join her group and they push further through the Dark. 

Their combined effort unites them with the main host, Domans, Adders, and Temple Knights as they meet the Scions in the field. They crash over the remaining Imperial forces like a tidal wave. All that remains standing is a Schola Colossus Rubra-something or another. Lyse can’t remember all the names the Empire uses, but they fall all the same. Though this one is sturdier than most. 

Klyn grabs the hulking Colossus’ attention, blocking and dodging it’s attacks while meeting it with her own sword swings as Krile backs her up with heals. Alisaie digs her foil into the ground as she summons forth multiple blades of light to impale the foe, working in tandem with the Arixe’s various spells, her carbuncle somehow morphing into Bahamut of all things. Lyse is sure glad that the… _summon_ and it’s master is on their side.

The Colossus begins its self destruct sequence as the leaders and the Scions all too slowly chip away at its defenses. Lyse centers herself, balancing the aether within her with the ambient aether of the battlefield. The last time she did this, Papalymo had been by her side, lending her his aether so that she could have the might to decimate their foes in Ul’dah. 

This time… This one's for him.

As she charges forth in one decisive strike, the aether stored in her fist explodes with such a brilliant force that it practically melts the Colossus. She lands a few fulms from the point of impact, taking shaky breaths as she rests on one knee. Her soldiers come to her side and she catches the Scions eyes as they wave to her before they move on to the final leg of the battle. Lyse pulls herself back up and waves off her squad’s medic. She’s fine. She’s always fine. It is more important that they defend this point to their last. 

When they return to the encampment, Lyse is very happy to learn that the Garleans are retreating and that the Alliance suffers few casualties. Some of the soldiers see it fit to celebrate. Maybe there’s hope after all, that they could turn the tides and stop the Empire. Lyse is too exhausted to join them however, having over extended her strength and aether reserves in the battle. She settles for a weak smile as she leans against the table.

Then the Scions return, escorted by Hien and his guard. Whatever optimism Lyse feels drains away at the sight of an unconscious Alisaie in Klyn’s arms. 

No… not her too.

She’s carried into the camp and placed on a stretcher in the medic tent as Krile goes to inquire about any available chocobo transport the Scions could use. Lyse frowns as she inspects Alisaie, sighing heavily as she sits on a bench beside her stretcher. Klyn joins her, arms crossed. It’s the first time the Roegadyn’s heavy armor actually seems to weigh down on her. Arixe stays standing by Alisaie’s side, stock still. 

Lyse finally speaks, “We… can’t let her down. Have to keep moving.”

She starts to rise only for Klyn to grasp her wrist. “I’m sorry. I was supposed to protect her.”

Lyse shrugs her off, “This isn’t your doing.” 

Klyn continues, getting up and partially blocking Lyse’s path. “It was not just you I promised that to. Y’shtola too, asked it of me. She also told me to protect you. So, I must ask… Are _you_ alright?” 

 _“I’m fine_.” 

The mention of Shtola’s name sets a deeper frown on her face. Lyse is absolutely fine, she’s not the one with her soul ripped from her body. She’s not even one of the ones tormented by the voice, counting the minutes until she too succumbs to the deathless sleep! She’s clenching her fists again, trembling with frustration.

Before Klyn can press further, Krile appears at the opening of the tent. “The chocobo carriage is ready. Pray carry her to carriage so that we may swiftly return her to the Rising Stones. Come on, now.” 

The Roegadyn knight gives Lyse a wary look before sighing and carefully picking Alisaie back up in her arms. “Please, take care of yourself.”

The Scions depart. Lyse is still mad yet too spent to be able to do anything about it. She hates that despite everything she’s still so powerless to help the ones she holds dear. When the anger resides, she’s left with sorrow and regret. What if she does not see the Scions again before the voice comes for its next victim? 

Over the next day, Lyse listens to Raubahn going over the reports as he pushes around the models on the war table. By all accounts, the Alliance seem to be doing well. It’s a stalemate but he tells he that he thinks they can exploit an opening in the Empire’s defenses. She gathers her squad and they set out once again across the ravaged land. Once in position, she trusts Hien has his group just beyond the next wall of wreckage. 

She hears heavy footsteps striding across the opening, a pause and then a spin of a large barrel, revolving for several clicks before a sword is drawn from it. It strikes fear in her heart before she even completely registers just what the sound came from. Zenos yae Galvus. 

She turns to her swiftest scout and orders him to run back to the encampment to tell Raubahn. Lyse can but squint at him through the holes of the broken down machinery, adrenaline already pumping through her veins. His form is illuminated by just the flames around him as he effortlessly slices one of their soldiers in half. Her squad is deathly quiet, but they do not falter to follow her as she vaults over the twisted metal to confront him. Hien, Yugiri, and their shinobi are quick to join her. They must stop him from progressing further, whatever happens.

They have to buy time so that the Scions could deal with this ... _Ascian_.

Despite _knowing_ he’s an Ascian in Zenos’ skin, the sight of the man is enough to invoke all of her nightmares at once. His form standing over her, sword raised. Shtola’s back to her, her arms out as she holds off his strike with her barrier. The way she yelled her name, just before the blade broke through and cut her down. Sinking forward on her knees before collapsing. And so much of her blood…

He quickly whittles their forces down to just Lyse, Hien, and Yugiri. With every strike, she thinks of all the suffering both the Ascians and the Empire caused. She thinks of Shtola, and her blood, and the large scar across her chest. She thinks of her Scion friends now trapped in soulless slumber. Try as they might with every bit of their skill and power, it is not enough to even tax Zenos. His trickery takes them to the end of their ropes and it is all they can do to keep each other _alive._

It is not enough.

She pulls herself to her feet in time to see him unleash a blast upon Yugiri, throwing her back several yalms and rendering her unconscious. Hien’s sword deflects Zenos but the Ascian simply unleashes a forceful slash that knocks the Doman Lord into the dirt. 

 _“Damn you!”_ Lyse roars, launching herself with every single ilm of aether she has gathered in her fist. Her fist blade makes contact with his head, glancing off to the side and chipping off part of his mask. She lands with a growl, about to do a sweeping kick when he throws his arms back, unleashing an ungodly amount of power. She flies back, colliding into the metal debris and onto the ground. Her entire body is paralyzed and screaming in agony as the world around her flickers in and out of focus.

It’s over, isn’t it? 

Gods, she really messed up this time.

Heavy footsteps become louder, closer to her, drowning out the explosions and gunfire in the distance. All she wants now, more than anything… is to hold Shtola’s hand again. Tell her that she’s sorry she didn’t keep her promises. Instead, her trembling hand grasps at nothing but shrapnel and charred earth. All of it, slipping out of her fingertips…


	6. Chapter 6

It takes Lyse longer than she likes to admit to recover from that fateful day. Between the damage the Ascian caused to her and the damage she inflicted on herself from largely overextending her limits, her life held on by just a thread. Forced bedrest gave her less opportunities to be so reckless, especially after news of hope for the Scions. It didn’t make the Empire any less of a nuisance to deal with, but she’s coping. 

She didn’t it expect it would be today. She walks into the room with her usual pack of lunch where the slumbering Scions are being monitored to instead see them all sitting up, talking amongst themselves while Krile inspects them. Lyse drops her basket, spilling the contents on the floor as she stares at Shtola and the way her ears twitch and how she turns her face towards her.

“Thank the Twelve…” Lyse breathes. 

Shtola immediately attempts to stand, stumbling a little after her body has rested for so long. Lyse rushes to her, grasping her waist to steady her but then the smaller woman just leans her entire body against her, wrapping her arms around Lyse as tightly as she can manage. Shtola buries her face in Lyse’s neck, her voice full of relief. “Lyse.” 

Lyse holds her close, returning the tight embrace with no intention of letting her go again anytime soon. “Gods, I missed you so much, Shtola.”

“‘Twas not one day that I did not think of you.” She replies, her nose brushing against Lyse’s cheek before she finds her lips and kisses her. Lyse wonders when she’s going to wake up because she hasn’t known such bliss in a long time. The feeling of Shtola in her arms again, the softness of her lips, so much better than any memory. As they slowly part, Lyse realizes two things. 

She is definitely awake and thank Rhalgr for that.

...And they are being stared at all of their friends. 

Lyse clears her throat awkwardly, before whispering, “Uh, Shtola, we’re not alone.” 

“I honestly do not care.” She sighs, resting her head against Lyse’s shoulder.

“I care. Would it trouble you two so much to get a room?” Alisaie pipes up. Lyse can’t even frown at her, too happy to also see her awake. 

“So, I guess, the secret’s out?” Lyse asks with a laugh.

“What secret?” Thancred replies, running a hand through his hair and trimming it down with a pair of scissors. 

“Y’shtola and Lyse are a couple??” A surprised Alphinaud interjects. Alisaie nudges his shoulder while shaking her head, “Observant as ever, dear brother.” 

Lyse beams and hugs the woman in her arms closer. Shtola furrows her eyebrows at their friends before shrugging and returning to nuzzle against Lyse. “I have a few things I would do, such as visit Mhitra. And… perhaps Matoya. But first, I would much like to go home.”

“Okay! Just one thing-” She cups Shtola’s cheek, gently caressing her thumb over one of her brown facial markings. “…I love you.” 

Shtola displays a beautiful rare grin, eyes closed as she turns her face slightly into Lyse’s touch. She exhales softly as she slides her hands down from the taller woman’s shoulders trailing over the smooth fabric of her clothes and her exposed skin. She stops at Lyse’s hips, rubbing her thumbs over them as she opens her eyes, sparkling with happiness. 

“I love you as well, Lyse. More than I can even begin to express.” 

Lyse sniffles. Godsdamn it, she’s crying. Though, in this case, she is more than happy to let it be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i needed a fluffy af reunion ok  
> happy shadowbringers ya'll!


End file.
